Sweet Nothings
by antomato
Summary: They're both jealous, prideful, and just as dysfunctional as the rest of the European Continent, but they're still absolutely smitten with each other and it's the little things that they love the most.


**A/N: hi guys! i havent written something in a while so have some nice fluff and hinted sex **  
**i'm going to get to updating "running in circles" soon so look forward to that!**

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It's the little things they love about each other; the way Antonio smiles, the way Arthur's hair looks when he wakes up in the morning, the soft caramel color of Antonio's skin, the way Arthur's muscles shift when he moves. They're absolutely smitten with each other. They kiss, the whisper, the laugh, they're just as silly and dysfunctional as any other elder couple.

A paler hand ever so gently trails soft finger tips over the small rises of the Spaniard's spine, tracing the skin and bone of his spine as the sun kissed male lays curled into a tight ball on a messy mattress. His skin is still flushed and warm, but then again, he's always so deliciously warm. A smile begins to tug at thin corners of the Briton's lips as the other nation shivers under his soft touch, a chuckle rumbling in his throat as he turns onto his side and surrounds his beloved. Antonio mumbles something in his native tongue, perhaps cursing him for his sore hips, but who could tell? He'd already buried his chin and lips in the fluff of a thick, cotton pillow. Cooler, calloused fingers stroke his sides and hips, whispering phrases of affection into Antonio's ear and absolutely spoiling him; the Latin nation accepts it happily, seeing as he is one to constantly want every second of the island's attention. Arthur doesn't mind spoiling his adorable Spaniard, he smiles all the while as his hands wrap around a muscular torso and he presses kisses against the peninsular country's warm neck.

English lips trail down his shoulder blades, burying his nose into smooth flesh, soaking in his lover's scent. Arthur loved how he smelled, thick with spices and a hint of lotions and bath salts clinging to his body. Antonio did love to take long baths like that— Arthur knows that, and he doesn't mind. He knows his beloved loves constant attention and loves to hear those silly words of endearment, sometimes he spurs back with stubborn comments, but the Briton loves that too. His hands are shifting now, running to his smooth back and sliding down his spine and stopping at those dimples at the base of his back. A grin takes the island's lips, finger tips sinking into the skin and running over them. They're adorable, and he loves those dimples, just as he loves the smaller pair of dimples on Antonio's cheeks that appear when he laughs or smiles at the paler male with overbearing affection.

Oh, how he loves those smiles. Those soft, loving smiles. Sometimes when the two of them make love in the mornings or perhaps in the early evening, just as their bodies began to meet and the Englishman is entering his Spaniard, Antonio's cheeks flush a brilliant shade of crimson and his eyelids flutter and his lips smile as he pulls him into a kiss. Arthur hums at the happy thought of being the only one to receive such intimate views of his dearly beloved, his kisses drifting down the Iberian's bronze toned back until he hears a murmur of protest and a whine. Antonio shifts, beckoning Arthur to return to him and spoil him with kisses. He does so, and the Spaniard rolls onto his back and their legs tangle and his caramel fingers slip into golden hair and they kiss slowly and lovingly, soaking in each other's presence. It is not often they gets such quiet nights to enjoy each other like this; to make love and feel each other and map out their territory. They're both rather possessive and jealous and there is no one who does not know this, so they take each intimate moment that is given to them and indulge in each second of it.

Arthur continues on with his secession of spoils and worship of his lover, sliding so that he is hovering over the Spaniard. They share a smile, Antonio's fingers grazing over pale skin and tracing the edges of the Englishman's jawline before the younger of the two moves down and begins suckling and nipping at the flesh of Antonio's neck. Kisses and tokens of affection are pressed to skin and the Spanish man moans ever so softly as his Briton kisses him. His fingers return to the thick head of messily cut blonde hair, and he smiles lazily with half lidded eyes while letting his fingers run through the locks. Arthur never was great at cutting his hair, and you'd think after a century or two he'd be better, but he really isn't. It's choppy and thick, uneven strands pressed to his scalp. But Antonio loves this. It's cute, the way his little rainy island still can't quite cut the back very well. Sometimes, the Briton will let his Spaniard trim his hair for him, but mostly he cuts it himself. A chuckle that shifts into a weak laugh as he feels lips press to his ticklish stomach.

He can feel the blonde smile against his skin and his nose press against his stomach while fingers teasingly stroke his sides. Antonio's chuckles die down, but Arthur is still grinning; even after they have sex and run their hands all over each other, the Spaniard is still sensitive to his touch and giggles when he kisses his stomach. The Englishman slowly lets his body fall onto the Spaniard's eyelids slipping over his emerald orbs as fingers stroke his hair and his own palms brush the other's hips and thighs. They lay like that for some time, occasionally moving until the dark skinned male urges the object of his affection upward and they're tangling their legs and arms together while peppering kisses where ever they can reach and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears.

Antonio presses his nose into the crook where the Brit's neck meets the strong curve of his sculpted shoulder and he lets his eyes close once more. The smell of his skin surrounds him and it's fresh and clean, just like the constant rain over Arthur's homeland. The Spaniard smiles as he make note of how different they are, yet how closely their histories are woven together; Arthur is paler, slightly stockier in his build, with cool skin and smells of fresh rain and garden roses while Antonio is the color of war-made bronze, with thick curls and dark orbs, smelling of exotic spices while his flesh is naturally warm. It's as if they were made to accent and compliment the other, to be their opposite, to be their whole. Without one, the other is meaningless. Without the sun, the rain is nothing but dread, and without the rain, the sun is nothing but harshness.

Their bodies always slide together so well, fitting into one another since they were children. Arthur makes note of how warm and soft the other's skin is, yet how strong and steady those calloused, hard-working hands are. Antonio is more not as tall as the Briton, though he looks leaner and stronger next to the taller, stockier island. Even their bodily hair is different. There is a distinct trail of dark, chocolate hair over Antonio's abdomen. There are brown strands stretched over his strong arms and over his chest, meanwhile the soft blonde hair on the Briton's body is much less notable. There is a bit of a happytrail leading down to his manhood (one that Antonio loves to let his fingers grace over during foreplay to provoke his lover), but it is much lighter and harder to see. There is also small stubbles on the sun-kissed nation's chin as well from not having shaved the day before, and Arthur finds it attractive. Really, Antonio is very masculine— the amount of hair over his torso and down his stomach and the short buzz on his chin, it is to the blame of his Latin blood. Arthur is paler with less hair and he makes a point of always being cleanly shaved. However, there are rare moments when Antonio manages to distract the Brit from his daily shave, sometimes with kisses or perhaps slipping his hands under the blonde's shirt in the morning and kissing his neck— Morning routines were never Antonio's thing. He's slower, sloppier, and much lazier whereas the blonde haired nation makes a point of being clean and dressed and wide awake before nine. Sometimes the Spaniard's island lover will have to force him out of bed or else he will not even be heard or seen before noon.

"_Mi inglés, ¿quieres té?_" The question slipped smoothly from the Spaniard's lips, the Briton humming in response as he nods slowly as he lets the other man slip out of his arms to crawl out of the bed. He stretches, raising his arms above his head and pulling out a pair of dark red boxers, wiggling into them and leaving the room to idly make the Briton's favorite beverage.

Arthur waits patiently, laying on his back with his hands folded beneath his thick, messy hair. It doesn't take long, just about five minutes, and soon he hears returning steps down the long hall until he hears the soft call of his lover and he's holding two mugs in hand. A grin approaches Arthur's lips as he leans up and kisses the Spaniard's lips, taking the warm cup of Earl Grey tea into his hands. He sips on it, a hum of satisfaction rising in his throat as he feels the other male crawl into the bed, leaning against the headboard and letting his head rest on the other's pale shoulder. They sipped their beverages quietly, Antonio slowly drinking his cup of hot chocolate— his favorite, while the blonde drank his warm tea.

Arthur finished his, a sigh parting his lips as he pushed the ceramic mug onto the bedside table and let a hand slide behind the other's back and rest on his firm waist. The elder of the two let himself burrow into his lover's side, taking his time with the hot chocolate as they exchanged kisses from time to time. The pair of lovers grew tired, finally when the brunette was finished, the paler Englishman slide his mug on the table and they burrowed into the blankets together, whispering words of affection into each other's ears and and kissing— they were such love sick old men, and they didn't bother denying it. Antonio giggled as chuckled while cooing words of love to his dear rainy island in soft Spanish while the blonde kissed him and spoiled him with touches and strokes until the Briton was dozing while arms were clinging to the sun-kissed peninsular nation. Antonio listened quietly to the drumming of his heart in his chest, words and murmurs beginning to trickle from his lips like water while he slept. The Spaniard smiled as he listened to him talk in his sleep, occasionally responding and giggling at his incoherent babbles. Something he said seemed to bother him and Arthur's brow furrowed and he pressed his face against the other's chest, the darker skinned nation pressing kisses to the top of his head to calm him until he too, was dozing peacefully.

Love sick, dysfunctional, and completely smitten— that's what they were.


End file.
